Lives On In Memory
by ingrid-matthews
Summary: SLASH. Post Excalibur. Merlin and Arthur and the stages of grief.


Title: Lives on in Memory

Fandom: Merlin

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Arthur/other, Merlin/Arthur

Summary: Takes place after "Excaliber". Stages of grief.

xXx

Arthur spends hours at a time polishing Owain's shield.

There's an odd movement about his work, circle after circle with the cloth, brushing away imaginary dust and cobwebs that have yet to be spun over its faded plates. He puts it down for a little while, examining it critically from across the room while Merlin stands uncomfortably to one side, hands clasped behind his back to stop himself from grabbing the shield and tossing it out the window - that's how much this ritual disturbs him.

"Get me another cloth," Arthur orders.

Merlin obeys, repressing a sigh. "I think it's quite clean, sire." He's said this a few times but Arthur doesn't listen. He goes back to scrubbing at the handle, there's a spot he can't seem to banish. "I hate asking this, but is anyone going to use it anymore? I thought that was against the rules."

He only says this because Owain is dead, killed by the ghost of Arthur's uncle in a fight he never had a chance to come out of alive. "Another cloth," Arthur replies tersely and they speak no more for the rest of the afternoon.

Merlin leaves eventually, slipping out the door unnoticed, closing it silently in his wake. He stares at the worn wood uncomfortably before going to out to seek Gwen and speak to her about all this. She's wiser than he is about these things; she seems to understand Arthur's odd quirks and the ways of princes in general.

But when he questions her, she merely bows her head and shakes out Morgana's sheets that much more vigorously. "He's in mourning, I suppose. He and Sir Owain were, you know, friends."

"I know they were. But this shield ..."

"Everyone expresses their grief differently." Gwen plumps a pillow before tucking it beneath the linens. She immediately flattens it a few seconds later. "I'd just let him do what he will."

"It doesn't seem healthy."

"I suppose." She works her way around the bed and starts fussing with the flowers on Morgana's night table, flipping her brush and mirror this way and that and Merlin can see their conversation is over.

He leaves and heads into the courtyard. He has trouble keeping his eyes off of Arthur's window, wishing he'd come out and get a bit of sunlight. It's been four days since the Black Knight's defeat and Arthur hasn't really been doing much of anything except mess with Owain's armor and scowl at the fire.

The vendors shuffle past Merlin, carrying their wares on their backs or in carts, pushing him out of their way. No one has time for a daydreamer so Merlin climbs one of the lesser used staircases and sits there, staring out into the world. He wonders about sorrow, how it catches up with you when you least expect it to in ways you never imagined it would.

It suddenly hits him that he didn't realize how close Arthur and Owain were, how he might find them laughing on the practice field alone, long after all the other knights had left. They ate together sometimes in private, something Arthur never did with anyone except when he was called to dinner by his father. Then there was the way Arthur had dressed him for that final battle ...

A cold and terrible thought strikes Merlin. Arthur has lost someone precious, more than just another knight on the field and his breath catches in his chest, making his heart skip.

To Arthur, mourning is a luxury he can't afford. There are no tears for a crown prince, never in front of those he would lead one day. He's forced to watch and forget and if he can't, he might wipe at a dead knight's shield in a silent, tearless ritual of grief.

Merlin is overwhelmed with pity. He runs back upstairs into the castle and is about to rush into Arthur's room, to tell him that he can mourn, that Merlin would never judge him for weeping and just as he's about to push his way in ...

Arthur stands in the doorway, dressed for practice, his eyes as clear as a spring sky. "Gather the knights. We have point work today, three hours."

Merlin stumbles back a little. "Um ..."

"Do I have to repeat myself, Merlin?" Arthur sounds tired and annoyed. "All knights, point work, three hours. Got it?"

"Yes, sire," Merlin replies sheepishly, before bowing slightly and doing what he's told, his great epiphany shunted aside.

But not forgotten.

xXx

He makes a few attempts to speak to Arthur about Sir Owain, mentioning random things he remembers or have coaxed out of a few people who knew him. People are reluctant to talk about Owain. Maybe it's something about how he died, at the hands of a wraith or there's something else they're afraid of divulging, Merlin isn't sure.

Still, it's up to him to let Arthur know that it's all right to mourn, that he can let his emotions free, especially when it comes to the death of a friend.

"I remember when Sir Owain gave me a good word at the Candlemas feast. It was very kind of him, especially since no one else seemed to like me that much," Merlin says while serving Arthur his meal in his private chamber.

"That might still be the case," Arthur mumbles, pulling at his bread and shoving it into the bowl. "Did you bring up a spoon?"

"Wonderful gentlemen. The ladies seemed to like him."

Out of nowhere, Arthur's nostrils flare and he grits his teeth. "I asked for a spoon! Damn you, Merlin, can you stop blathering for a moment and simply do as I ask!"

Merlin lays the spoon down next to the bowl. "You miss him don't you?"

This is Merlin's great, helpful moment and he's proud of himself for being such a good mentor-in-training. It'll be a moment they look back on together during the height of their great destiny, that time when Merlin allowed Arthur to simply be himself.

Unfortunately, it seems that reality has other plans and Arthur isn't as grateful as Merlin imagined he would be. The bowl goes flying along with the spoon, both of them crashing against the door. Arthur is white with rage and it's a frightening sight, not the gentle emotion of a man who is mourning but the ember-hot fury of a man who's been the victim of a thief and can only rail against his loss with helpless anger.

"Get out," Arthur grinds out, his breathing labored. "Get out until you learn how to serve me properly, silently and quickly. Enough with your foolish talk, enough with your witless words, enough with _you_. Go!"

Merlin opens his mouth to defend himself, then thinks better of it. He slips from the room and wanders away, confused and depressed. What did he say that was so terrible?

His wandering takes him to Gaius' quarters, where he finds Morgana, pouring herself her nightly dose of sleep tonic. She's gotten used to handling the medicine so Merlin lets her go about her business and takes a seat, burying his head in his folded arms.

"Is he giving you a hard time?" Morgana asks, searching the table for a stopper. "I've noticed a rather foul mood hanging over our crown prince these days."

"I was only trying to help. He's torn up about Sir Owain and I only said ..." Merlin says, looking up, surprised to see Morgana turn slightly pale.

"You must leave him be about Sir Owain," she says urgently. "There are some things that are better left unsaid."

"How can you believe that?" Merlin asks indignantly. "Half the problem around here is that no one is allowed to say anything when they certainly should be talking. I think it's not good for him not to be able to mourn his friend. It's ridiculous ... who cares if he cries a little?"

Morgana purses her lips, as if she's struggling to keep quiet, but finally, her silence breaks. "I tell you to be quiet because I'm not sure Uther would appreciate Arthur's keening over his lover in front of the help, that's all."

Merlin's mouth drops to somewhere around his chest. "Pardon?"

"Now leave him be and maybe we can all get through this without any further loss of sanity," she says crisply, tapping a stopper into the little decanter. "All right?"

He has a few thousand questions for her - how, why, are you sure - but she's already gone and he's left alone with a whole new set of thoughts. Owain and Arthur, not just friends but ...

His cheeks flush hotly, images filling his head. He'd known boys like that in his village. It was considered something young men occasionally did in lieu of a willing woman but Arthur could have almost any woman he wanted so this must have been a choice, something borne of true affection and desire.

The enormity of Arthur's loss hits him then, like a great wave. So many emotions flood him as does the strange sting of something that feels like jealousy. Frightened of his own heart, Merlin gets up and starts pacing the floor, hugging himself as if cold.

This ... Arthur and this fellow ... together in _that_ way and Merlin is suddenly dizzy with the reality. It's hard not to picture it and he wonders if it were gentle or rough, if there were words of love exchanged and a few hundred more inappropriate things - especially unkind to think of now that the poor man is dead.

A part of him wants to see Arthur again immediately, to smooth things over. Another, wilder and more shameful part never wants to see Arthur again in case the prince can guess what he's thinking. It's not about empathy or helping him work through his grief. No, it's about something far removed from a kind word or helpful gesture and Merlin clenches his fist until his nails bite into his palm, drawing blood.

_I could make Arthur forget him,_ a traitorous part of his brain murmurs. Merlin gasps, shocked at himself.

Two strides later, he's cloistered in his tiny room, a blanket around his ears and his wicked mind still whispering outrageous - and wonderful - thoughts long into a hot, restless night.

xXx

A walk in the woods the next morning does little to temper Merlin's fevered curiosity.

He performs tiny bits of magic as he walks. Pulling wildflowers from the ground and winding them into wreaths which he leaves on the highest branches throughout the forest, letting those who follow wonder how they got there. Makes puddles ripple and splash on their own before he gets bored of these tricks and makes his way to the grove where the hallowed dead of Camelot are buried.

The graves are few and far between. The poor get put in the communal catacombs beneath the outer castle walls, kings and gentry alone get their own private burial mound with a stone set above it. There is Golores, the duke of Cornwall, Morgana's late, lamented father in the western corner, closest to where the sun sets. A few knights are scattered here and there and Merlin is surprised to see someone kneeling by a grave. Sir Owain's grave ...

It's Arthur. Merlin flushes and panics for no particular reason, except maybe guilt for his thoughts the night before. He debates turning away, Arthur hasn't seen him yet but his legs carry him forward in spite of himself. He's still a good few yards away when Arthur addresses him without seeing him, just another example of how Arthur doesn't need magic to know certain things.

"I broke it off with him, the week before my naming as crown prince."

Arthur says these words calmly, his eyes never leaving the marker over Owain's grave, the letters still dusty from the engraver's chisel. He speaks with certainty, knowing as he must that Merlin has finally figured out the mystery. It seems as if he no longer cares, that the part of him in denial has finally reached a compromise of sorts - Owain is dead, long live regret.

Merlin stares at the grass. "I'm sorry."

"Really? I wasn't, not at the time." Arthur rises, dusting off his pants. "It was the best thing for both of us. We had to grow up sometime, didn't we? We weren't boys anymore, playing about at love, we were men - too old for such a relationship. Except ..."

"You weren't sure?"

Arthur traces a gloved finger along the gravestone's top. It will have an eternity to weather and crumble but for now it is as smooth and flawless as a young man's skin. "He wasn't sure, I knew that much. I ... I hurt him, I think. I didn't mean to, I thought we had an understanding, although I suppose now I can see why he might have thought otherwise." Bitterness tinges his voice. "But I'll never know, will I? We'll never work it out now. My last memory of him ..."

"Is advising him before the battle, dressing him with your own hands. Surely he must have appreciated that," Merlin says, a little bit desperately. "He knew you cared."

Arthur glances at him. His cheeks are pale, making his lips look bright red. "I watched him die. For me. He picked up that gauntlet and I wonder now if he wished to die. That my breaking with him killed him. But I'll never know. And so I am punished."

"Punished for what?" Merlin pushes forward, ducking around to make Arthur look him in the face. "For being human? For not being able to control every whim of fate? We can't time everything in our lives perfectly, you can only live this day - if you're lucky. Your breaking with him didn't kill him, the Black Knight did." Merlin throws up his hands in frustration. "The result of that would have been the same had you still been with him. Surely he would have picked up the gauntlet for you no matter what."

Arthur rolls his eyes in derision but Merlin can sense that he's listening, albeit unwillingly. "Merlin ..."

"And he would have died regardless. Because that was his fate, to die in your stead and I can't imagine, if he cared for you as you say, that he would have wished for anything else. Owain's life was well-lived ..."

"If a bit short," Arthur interjects dryly.

"He had you," Merlin says, his voice low and serious. "A person he loved and he died with honor, defending you. Many of us will never have a life as full should we live a hundred years. You need to stop questioning what might have been and appreciate what was. What will be because of Owain's sacrifice. Respect that, and continue to love him if you want - nothing can stop you. Death is not the end."

Arthur blinks, his mouth hanging open slightly. "When did you become a sage?"

It's _that_ moment. The one that will live on in memory. "I'm not trying to be a sage. Just a friend."

"Right." Arthur's head is tilted, as if considering Merlin's words. Slowly, very slowly, his lips curve into a smile and a dash of color comes back into his cheeks. He takes a moment to touch Merlin's shoulder as he walks away, shaking his head slightly.

The crisis, it seems, has finally passed.

Merlin doesn't watch him go. Arthur may have found his calm harbor in the storm but for Merlin, the tempest has just begun. He stares at Owain's grave and is ashamed at the envy that courses through his blood, hot and strangling. Every word was true and he spoke from the heart when he swore that a man might live a hundred years and not be as fulfilled as Owain was in his brief life.

He wonders how long he will live and if Arthur will ever kneel at his grave, grateful for the time they had together.

However that time may be spent.

Merlin turns away from Owain's grave and head back to the castle, more confused than relieved, wondering if there are secrets that the future holds for him and Arthur and if destiny means more than what it appears.

And if he's truly ready for any of it.

xXx

end

**Thanks for reading! Reviews appreciated always. :D**


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